


Nothing Like the Real Thing

by angelsaves



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Dating, Feelings, M/M, Pie, Practice Kissing, practice sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes," Shitty says, and pauses, like he's collecting his thoughts. "Sometimes, I feel like I barely know you, Bitty."</p><p>Includes baking about feelings, actually TALKING about feelings, learning to understand feelings, and sex.</p><p>Betaed by the wonderful mardia, without whom this story would be missing important parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like the Real Thing

Bitty's just put a sheet of chocolate-chip cookies in the oven, heaving a sigh of satisfaction, when he realizes that Shitty is looking at him. "Can I help you?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Sometimes," Shitty says, and pauses, like he's collecting his thoughts. "Sometimes, I feel like I barely know you, Bitty."

"You know me," Bitty says immediately. "We've been friends for nearly two years!"

"Of course we have," Shitty says, spreading his hands like Bitty's -- what, going to bite him? "Look, forget I said anything, bro."

"No," Bitty says, even though it would be easier to just let it go. He feels uneasy, and he doesn't like feeling that way, not around Shitty, of all people. He sits down opposite Shitty, at the one area of the table not covered in study materials. "You want to know me better? What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me," Shitty says. "I tell you all kinds of things, you know? I just want you to know, it goes both ways. You don't have to, like, hold back or whatever."

Bitty feels like -- like sugar gone past the point of caramelization, right into bubbling burning _awful_. "I don't have to hold back," he says. "I don't have to _hold back?_ You have no idea, Shitty Knight."

"I really don't," Shitty says. "That's kind of my point."

"Of _course_ I have to hold back," Bitty says. "I can't go around just -- smashing things and humping people's legs and -- and shouting at people! Nobody _wants_ that!" He slams his fists down on the table, startling himself, then gets mad all over again. "Sometimes bottling up your feelings is the only appropriate thing to do!"

"Whoa," Shitty says softly.

"See?" Bitty stands up, knocking the table into Shitty, and goes over to check on the cookies. "Why would you want to hear about how I'll never be good enough for my father when you could just eat cookies? Who would rather hear about my sexual repression than eat my pie? No one, that's who!" He resists the temptation to slam the oven door -- Betsy would never forgive him -- and closes it with care, then just stands there, staring at it and breathing hard.

"Bitty," Shitty says. There's the squeak of chair legs on the tile, and that's all the warning Bitty gets before Shitty is wrapping him in a hug from behind. "Not that I don't love the fruits of your labors, but I would gladly listen to your issues. Remember the time you told me I could be a peer counselor?"

"Yes," Bitty says. He's not resisting the hug, exactly, but he's not making it easy, either. He has his pride.

"Well, that's still me," Shitty says. "I'm here, and I'm offering. I mean it, Bits." He shakes Bitty up and down a little. "Baked goods or no baked goods."

"I always prefer baked goods to no baked goods," Bitty jokes weakly. "They're a good distraction."

"I had kind of picked up on that," Shitty says gently. He releases Bitty, only to ruffle his hair. "You know I know a thing or two about paternal expectations. Why don't we start there?"

Bitty doesn't turn around. "You could be who your parents want you to be," he says. "I -- can't. Even hockey isn't butch enough for Coach, and I -- I really loved figure skating, you know?" His voice cracks a little on the last word, and he braces himself on the oven, the warmth of the metal on his palms helping to ground him. "I mean, I love hockey, too, but -- I thought it would help more than it did."

Shitty sighs. "That really sucks, bro."

"Yeah," Bitty says, and laughs humorlessly. "And if Mama would stand up for me -- but I don't think she's ever argued with Coach. Not about me, anyhow."

"Not a problem my parents had," Shitty says. "There's gotta be a happy medium, right?"

"Lord, I hope so," Bitty says.

"You deserve better," Shitty says. "I know it's not the same -- fuck, do I know -- but any of us on the team would fight _anybody_ for you. You know that, right?"

Bitty turns around, finally. Shitty's face is as calm and guileless as ever. "But why?" he asks. "If you don't even _know me_ \--"

"You're still someone," Shitty says. "Even if that someone is opaque and excels in the art of misdirection via pastry, you're _someone_ , and you're _ours._ "

Tears prick at Bitty's eyes, and he stubbornly blinks them away. "Thank you," he says.

"If your parents don't appreciate you, that's their loss, bro," Shitty says. "I really mean that. They're lucky to have a kid like you."

"They're not," Bitty says. "They're good people. They deserve a football player, and -- and grandkids, and --"

"Nobody deserves a football player," Shitty says flatly. "And grandkids -- hell, you're only nineteen, Bits. You can adopt, or --"

"I don't even know if I like kids," Bitty says.

"Then maybe your parents will have to learn that your decision to have kids or not is not fucking up to them," Shitty says.

Bitty swipes surreptitiously at his eyes. "You make it sound so easy," he says.

"Simple, maybe, but not easy," Shitty says. "It probably won't be easy, not gonna lie."

"A boy can hope," Bitty says, and sighs. "Anyway, kids are jumping the gun a bit when I've never even kissed a guy, don't you think?"

"Maybe," Shitty says.

"You don't sound surprised," Bitty says cautiously.

Shitty shrugs. "You spend most of your time with us," he says. "I thought maybe, when you went for coffee with that guy from the rugby team after Screw, but --"

"No," Bitty says. The cookies smell done. He pulls the sheet out of the oven and starts scooping them onto the cooling rack. "If you're going to ask me how I know I'm gay, then --"

"I'm not," Shitty says. "I knew I liked girls for, like, ten years before I kissed one. Guys, a little less time, but cultural conditioning --"

Bitty drops the spatula. It skitters under Betsy, and he has to get down on his hands and knees to retrieve it.

"-- sorry, I didn't realize that would be such a surprise," Shitty says, and he really does sound sorry. "Let me wash that for you." He gets up and takes the spatula from Bitty's hand.

"You," Bitty says, but he's not sure how to finish that sentence.

"Me," Shitty agrees, over the running water. "One in four, right?"

"That's what they say." Bitty feels a little faint. "How do you -- ?" He waves his hands in the air. It's not as eloquent as he hoped.

"How do I what?" Shitty gives him back the spatula. "Pick up?"

"Well," Bitty says. "Yes." He scoops more cookies, not looking at Shitty.

"Going to Queer Network meetings helps," Shitty says. "Have you ever been?"

"No," Bitty says. "I was -- busy, and things."

"I'd go with you, if you want," Shitty says. "For moral support, and team solidarity, and whatnot."

"You would?" Terror and anticipation bloom in the pit of Bitty's stomach.

"Of course," Shitty says, like it's just that easy. Maybe it is, for him. Maybe it will be for Bitty, too, someday.

"Have a cookie," Bitty says generously.

Shitty takes one. "Is this your way of saying 'conversation over'?" he asks, mouth full.

"For now," Bitty says. "But -- thank you. That wasn't so bad."

Shitty hugs him again, from the side this time. "Good."

Bitty looks up Queer Network's meeting times on his phone, once Shitty has gone back to studying again. They meet Wednesday evenings at 7:30. That's... in three hours. Oh, Lord.

"Did you want to go tonight?" he asks, unsure what he wants the answer to be.

"Sure, why not?" Shitty says. "Unless you need more time to gear up, bro."

Bitty opens his mouth to take the out, then changes his mind at the last instant and says, "I've been gearing up for this since I was _eleven_."

Shitty grins at him. "That's the spirit!"

***

7:15 finds Bitty standing in front of his closet, feeling like every teen movie cliché ever. He wants to look good, but not like he's trying too hard. Does a Samwell Men's Hockey shirt send the right message? What _is_ the right message?

At last, Bitty closes his eyes and blindly sticks his hand out, resolving to put on the first thing he touches. Opening his eyes, he sees that it's a blue V-neck shirt. Okay, he can work with that. His jeans are getting tight in the butt -- doing squats with Ransom is finally paying off -- but that might be a good thing.

He's rewarded, when he leaves his room, by Shitty grinning at him. "You clean up pretty well, Bits," he says, punching him companionably in the shoulder.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Bitty says with a smile.

They head across campus to the student center; QN meets in one of the conference rooms in the basement, where Bitty has never actually been. He looks around, wide-eyed, at the posters and flyers and assorted detritus of a part of campus life that he's almost completely avoided before now.

"C'mon in," Shitty says, holding the door open and waving Bitty through.

Bitty looks around the room. There are about a dozen people there, so far, sitting in chairs or on tables or leaning against the wall, talking. They're all at least familiar by sight, which Bitty guesses makes sense -- Samwell isn't that big, after all. He takes a seat close to the door, and Shitty drops into the chair next to him.

"See? Not so bad," Shitty says quietly.

"I'll reserve my judgment," Bitty whispers back.

"Shits," says a voice that's more than familiar. "And Bits! Good to see you fuckers here."

"Lardo!" Bitty says. "Hi!"

Lardo hoists herself up to sit on the table between them. "I didn't think this was your thing," she says.

"I, ah," Bitty says. "I'm not much of a joiner."

"I respect that," Lardo says.

"I'm trying out some new things, though," he says, a little more bravely.

"Nice." She nods.

"Okay, okay, come to order," says a heavyset, bearded guy Bitty's seen around the gym. "There's at least one new face here today, so let's try to make a good impression, okay?"

"Why set him up for disappointment?" cracks a girl from Bitty's food seminar last semester -- Molly, he thinks her name is -- and gets a laugh.

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Molly," says the guy in charge, wagging his finger. "Anyway, for those of you who don't know, I'm Leo, the president of QN. Why don't we all go around and say our names, and, I don't know, what year you are and your favorite extracurricular besides this? I'm a senior, and mine is playing Minesweeper while my code compiles."

"I'm Molly, I'm a junior, and I row crew," says Molly.

Bitty's eyes glaze over somewhere between Rob, who knits, and Gina, who runs the school chapter of the Red Cross, but he's paying enough attention to know when it's his turn, at least. "Uh, I'm Eric," he says, "but all my friends call me Bitty. I'm a sophomore, and I play hockey."

"Larissa, junior, art," says Lardo.

"I'm Shitty, I'm a senior, and I also play hockey," Shitty says.

"Nice to see all of you," Leo says. "Does anyone have urgent business?" He glances around the room. "Good; neither do I. Gina and RJ, you're selling buns in Gregory tomorrow morning, right?"

"Right," they both say.

"Excellent. The funds will go to the setup for the Genderfuck Ball in June, which we'll talk about more closer to the date. Does anybody have any other non-urgent business? No? You'd rather just make small talk like animals?"

"Yes," Molly calls out.

"Well, fine," Leo says. "Small talk it is!" He waves his hand regally, and everybody seems to take that as a dismissal, splitting into small groups.

"So," Shitty says to Lardo. "How are things going with your love life?" He wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

She rolls her eyes at him. "They're going," she allows. "I might, in theory, have something like a date later this week."

"Oooh," Bitty says, unable to resist. "Do I know them?"

"I'll tell you after Schrödinger's date," Lardo says. "Oh -- hmm." She pulls out her notebook and scribbles something; Bitty discreetly averts his eyes, knowing that Lardo is very private about her artistic process.

Just then, one of the other guys comes over to their table. "Hi," he says. "I'm RJ. You're Eric, right?"

"Call me Bitty, please," Bitty says, shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you, RJ."

"You too, Bitty," RJ says. "So, hockey, huh?" He leans against the table.

"Hockey," Bitty agrees. "Are you a fan?"

"I never have been, but I'm always up for new hobbies involving drinking beer and yelling at the TV," RJ says, and smiles. He has a very nice smile.

"Well, you should definitely try hockey, then," Bitty says, smiling back at him.

"Are there still games this time of year?" RJ asks.

"There sure are," Bitty says. "The Bruins are playing tomorrow night, as a matter of fact."

"Want to come over and show me how hockey-watching is done?" RJ pulls out his phone. "Give me your number, I'll text you my address."

"Oh!" Bitty blushes. "Sure. I can do that." He takes RJ's phone and puts his name in the contacts, with a ^_^ next to it, and then his number.

"Nice, Bitty-smiley face," RJ says, and Bitty blushes harder. Maybe that was silly, or -- too forward? But RJ seems pleased.

"Tell me about yourself," Bitty says. "You said you're a beat-boxer? What does that mean?"

RJ grins. "This," he says, and lets out a stream of percussive noises Bitty didn't even know could come out of human throats.

"Wow!" he says.

"Some of the best ones, I can only do with a throat mic on," RJ says, "but I don't exactly go around all the time wired for sound."

Bitty nods. "That could be awkward," he says.

"It's fun, though," RJ goes on. "Patrician Squid is like my family, only, you know, not related to me, and we actually have some things in common. So, nothing like my family, actually."

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Bitty says. "That's just what the hockey team is like!"

"So does that make Wonder-'Stache your dad or your brother?" RJ asks. "Or is it more like the kissing-cousins kind of family?" Bitty blinks, and RJ looks horrified at himself. "That wasn't a -- I didn't say that because you're Southern! I said it because I slept with one of our baritones freshman year!"

Bitty bursts out laughing. RJ is a delight. "I wasn't offended, don't worry," he says. "I just never thought the analogy through quite that far."

"That's my real hobby: making it weird," RJ says.

"I don't mind," Bitty says, and he really doesn't.

"I'm glad, Bitty-smiley face." They smile at each other for a moment, and then RJ says, "Oh! My address," and quickly taps out a text.

It pops up on Bitty's phone a moment later, an address just off campus that Bitty is pretty sure he can find. "Thanks," Bitty says.

"Okay, queers, we're done for the week!" Leo says loudly, back at the front of the room. "I hope to see all of you here next week -- same bat time, same bat channel."

"Thanks, Leo!" Molly calls out, and there's a dull roar of agreement from the rest of the room.

"See you tomorrow," RJ says, touching Bitty's shoulder, and he leaves in the first rush for the door.

As soon as RJ is gone, Lardo nudges him with her foot. "Now who's got a date?"

"I -- it's not -- that's -- oh dear," Bitty says, flustered. "Is that what just happened?"

"Come on, let's get back to the Haus," Shitty says, standing up. Lardo hops down from the table, and Bitty gets to his feet. "And yes, I would say that is a date you got there, Mr. Bittle. Nice work!" Shitty noogies him.

"Unless," Lardo says on the stairs. "If you don't want, Bits --"

"You don't owe him anything, Bitty," Shitty says. "But do I think he likes you? I absolutely do."

"Oh," Bitty says, and turns that over in his head. "That's -- good, I think."

"Good," Lardo says, and holds out her fist for Bitty to bump. He does, with great solemnity, and they go home.

***

That night, Bitty wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. He can't remember details of his dream, but the feelings it gave him -- those are as clear and sharp as shattered crystal. He'll never be good enough, not for Coach, not for Jack, not for Shitty, not for RJ. It's just a matter of time before they all realize that Eric Bittle is a black hole.

He tries to shake it off and get back to sleep, but it isn't working. Fine -- he'll just have to deal with this the old-fashioned way: by baking, of course. He kicks off the covers, sets Señor Bun on the pillow, and heads downstairs.

Betsy warms up while Bitty gets out the ingredients for an apple pie, lining them up on the counter to make sure everything is there. It all is. Bitty has this, at least, under control.

He tries not to bang around too much as he mixes up the crust and the filling, conscious of the fact that it's 2:30 AM and the team needs their beauty rest. There's not much he can do about the smell, though, except hope that they just assume they're dreaming. Not that he thinks people dream about his pies -- no, that's a bald-faced lie; he's sure they do.

"'s a funny time for baking," Shitty says through a yawn, coming into the kitchen in just his underpants. "You on a deadline?"

"I'm fine," Bitty says, placing the measuring spoons firmly in the sink.

"Okay," Shitty says. "But if you weren't fine, that'd be -- you know. Fine."

"You should be asleep," Bitty tries, but Shitty just raises his eyebrows at him. "So should I, yes, I know."

"Let me do some dishes." Shitty nudges Bitty out of the way and runs the hot water; Bitty lets him, leaning against the counter to supervise.

"I've never kissed a guy," he says after a while. Shitty nods, soaping up the measuring cup. "What if RJ wants to kiss me, and I'm bad at it?"

"You probably won't be," Shitty says. "Kissing is kind of instinctive, bro."

"But what _if_ ," Bitty says, helplessly.

"You could practice."

"On what, my arm?" Bitty huffs. "I'm not _twelve_ , thank you very much."

"You could," Shitty says, "but I actually meant on me." He glances up from the dishes, meeting Bitty's shocked gaze. "It's just an offer. No hard feelings either way."

"You'd do that?" Bitty asks.

Shitty shrugs. "You're my friend," he says. "I'd do a lot of things for you -- much grosser things than kissing practice."

"Thank you, I think," Bitty says wryly.

"Can't let your head get too big," Shitty says, grinning at him.

"Okay," Bitty says.

"Okay?" Shitty repeats.

"Okay." He's more determined this time. "If I can do checking practice with Jack, I can do kissing practice with you." Bitty takes a step closer. "So... how do we start?"

"However you want," Shitty says.

Bitty scowls. "Well, how do you usually do it? Do you have a... 'signature move'?" He does the air quotes, which makes Shitty laugh.

"I usually start like this," Shitty says, and strokes the side of Bitty's face with the backs of his fingers.

"Oh," Bitty says. It feels good -- tingly where Shitty touched him. "And then?"

"Then, something like this." Shitty kisses him, just a light press of lips at first, letting Bitty get used to the feel of a mouth with a mustache on his, then a little firmer, a little hotter --

" _Oh_ ," Bitty breathes again, parting his lips, and Shitty opens his mouth and changes the angle, and that's so much better that Bitty loses his balance, stumbling forward into Shitty's solid chest.

"Guess I've still got it," Shitty says into his hair, a laugh in his voice.

"So, was I bad at it?" Bitty asks, his face mashed into Shitty's bare shoulder.

"No," Shitty says. "You weren't bad at it."

"Oh," Bitty says, pulling back. It's silly, but he was almost hoping --

"There's always room for practice, though." Shitty strokes Bitty's face again, only this time, his fingers trail down Bitty's neck, too, making him tingle everywhere.

"Is that --" Bitty licks his lips, then continues. "-- the next step?"

"Yeah," Shitty says, and Bitty tilts his face up, waiting. Shitty kisses him again, and this time, Bitty opens his mouth right away. Shitty's tongue touches his, and that feels weird, but in a really good way -- Bitty chases the feeling, sliding his tongue along Shitty's.

"Mmm," Bitty says, and Shitty makes a groaning sound low in his throat and pushes closer. Bitty _really_ likes kissing, he decides.

Then Shitty puts his hands on Bitty's shoulders and pushes him back, gently. "That's enough practice for tonight, Bits," he says, breathing fast and shallow.

Bitty swallows. "Okay," he says. "Thank you. Do you want some pie? It should be about done."

"I always want some of your pie," Shitty says, and sits down at the table.

Bitty pulls out the pie -- he was right, the crust is perfectly golden -- and cuts two healthy slices, then puts them on plates and gets out forks. He sits down opposite Shitty and cuts the tip off his slice, waiting for it to cool.

"You'll be fine with RJ," Shitty says, fiddling with his fork.

"Thank you," Bitty says again. "You're a good teacher."

Shitty grins. "How would you know?"

Bitty blushes. He has a feeling that Shitty doesn't want to talk about Bitty's -- perfectly normal physiological reaction. "Well, I'll be sure to let you know how you measured up on Friday," he says instead, flippantly.

"I'll want deets," Shitty says, nodding. He takes a bite of his pie. "Fuck, hot! But good. But hot."

"But good?" Bitty grins and blows on his bite before putting it in his mouth. Yes, it is good.

"But good," Shitty agrees.

***

Bitty is not exactly at his best during classes on Thursday. He wonders if it's some kind of -- kissing hangover? Should he have drunk more water before going to bed, maybe? No, that's silly.

He puts on the Bruins shirt Shitty got him for his last birthday at 6:45, texts RJ _coming over! ^_^_ , and heads out the door of the Haus with two slices of last night's -- this morning's -- apple pie in a Tupperware. The air is brisk, but it's definitely warmer than it was last week, even if it's nothing like March in Georgia.

RJ's building is nice, but not intimidatingly so, with a gate leading to a small courtyard in front of the building itself. Just as he's looking at the number pad by the gate, RJ texts him _buzzer #15_ ; Bitty dials and gets buzzed through into the courtyard, and a moment later, RJ is waving him over.

"Left my keys upstairs," he explains. "Come on in!"

Bitty follows him up three flights of stairs, glad he's been doing his cardio, and into a comfortable-looking living room. "I brought apple pie," he says, offering RJ the container.

"Oh man, you're the best!" RJ says. "Can I get you a beer?"

"Yes, please," Bitty says.

"Uh, don't come into the kitchen, though." RJ looks mildly embarrassed. "I cleaned up the living room, but the kitchen, not so much."

Bitty laughs, and sits down on the couch in front of the TV. "I understand completely," he says. "I do live with hockey players."

"I have Sam Adams and Daisy Cutter," RJ calls over his shoulder, "plus this weird Key lime pie stuff my roommate's brother bought her, but honestly, I really don't recommend that one."

"I'd like a Sam Adams, please!" When RJ comes back, two open bottles in hand, Bitty adds, "That Key lime pie stuff does sound intriguing, though."

"That's what I thought," RJ says, "but it smells way better than it tastes."

"Hmm," Bitty says. He takes a sip of his beer and contemplates adding beer to a classic Key lime pie recipe. It might work if...

"So," RJ says. "I guess it's not called 'kickoff' in hockey, but do you know when it is?"

"Puck drop!" Bitty says. "And it should be..." He consults the NHL app on his phone. "In just about 5 minutes, on NESN."

"Cool, that was my guess," RJ says. "Is that enough time to give me Hockey 101 for A Cappella Dorks?"

"Absolutely," Bitty says, smiling. "We want the guys dressed like me --" He gestures to the Bruins logo on his shirt. "-- to hit the puck into the other guys' net, and keep the other guys from hitting it into theirs, ideally without anyone getting injured in the process."

"I think I can handle that," RJ says seriously, then grins at Bitty. "Is there a 102?"

"The rest is best learned on the fly," Bitty says. "I'll help."

"Then let's get ready for puck drop!" RJ turns on the TV. "Oh -- do you like pizza? I wasn't sure if athletes were supposed to eat that stuff, or I would've ordered earlier."

"I definitely eat pizza," Bitty says, which gets him another grin.

"What do you like on it? I've been getting red pepper and sausage lately, but I'm easy." Bitty blinks, and RJ turns red. "Uh, I mean..."

"Red pepper and sausage sounds great," Bitty says quickly.

"...and they're off!" says Jack Edwards from the TV, rescuing both of them.

"Bergeron just won the faceoff," Bitty explains, "so the Bruins are controlling the puck."

"And that's good, right?" RJ says.

"You're a quick learner," Bitty teases.

The period goes by quickly; the Bruins don't score, but neither do the Flames, and the pizza shows up moments after the buzzer sounds.

"I'll get that," RJ says, and races down the stairs. Bitty thinks about getting plates from the kitchen, but he finally decides that obeying the request to stay out of the kitchen is more polite, just as RJ returns with the pizza. "Hang on, I'll grab plates."

RJ sets the pizza down on the coffee table, and Bitty opens the box. It smells fantastic -- his stomach growls loudly in agreement.

"Here we go," RJ says, dishing out slices of pizza onto paper plates. "Enjoy!"

Bitty digs in. The pizza tastes as good as it smells. More interesting, though, is RJ's face as he enjoys his dinner. His lips are shiny with grease, which Bitty should probably find gross, but he just wants to see what kissing him is like. He thinks it might be good.

They each polish off two slices and wash it down with beer, and then RJ says, "Do you want to make out?"

"Yes," Bitty says. "I would like that."

"Cool," RJ says, and leans over to kiss Bitty.

He was right: it is good. It's not quite like with Shitty, but the slick press of mouths is the same, and Bitty hums happily into it. RJ nibbles at his lower lip, which is new to Bitty, but he decides quickly that it's fun, too, and tries it on RJ. He seems appreciative, if the way he's clutching at Bitty's shoulders is any metric.

Bitty pulls back for breath and looks into RJ's dark eyes. "That was very nice," he says.

"Thanks," RJ says, grinning at him. "You weren't so bad yourself."

"Thank you," Bitty says.

"Hey, let's have some of that pie you brought." RJ hops up from the couch and heads to the kitchen.

Bitty sits back and looks at his phone, but there's not much going on on Twitter. He hopes he didn't do anything wrong.

"So," RJ says, "when I said I was easy, I actually did just mean about pizza toppings."

"Oh," Bitty says.

"Not that you're not -- I just, not on the first date," RJ says hastily. "I got burned that way, and -- I like to take it slow." He rubs one hand over his face. "Is that okay?"

"That's fine," Bitty says. "Really, it is. I --" He laughs. "I wasn't even totally sure this _was_ a date, so I didn't have -- you know -- expectations."

"Oh! Well," RJ says, "I did want this to be a date."

"So did I," Bitty says.

"Good." RJ smiles again. "So -- you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Bitty says. "Slow is good. And you know what else is good? My pie."

RJ takes a bite. "You're not kidding, Bitty-smiley face," he says, immediately scooping up more.

The second period includes one fight and two goals, both in Boston's favor, and the second intermission includes more making out. They stay vertical, mostly, and keep their shirts on, and it's really, _really_ fun -- so much fun that Bitty makes a sad sound when RJ tears himself away from his mouth at the beginning of the third period.

"You should be glad I'm enjoying your game so much," RJ jokes, lacing his fingers with Bitty's. "Almost as much as your pie."

"Well," Bitty says, mollified.

RJ really does seem to be enjoying it; he's even picking up on some of the more subtle aspects of the game, hissing "yessss" when the Bruins force a turnover and groaning when Hiller makes a save. He cheers just as hard as Bitty when the final buzzer sounds, giving the Bruins another two points in the standings, and lays a smacking kiss on him.

"I had fun," Bitty says, gathering his things.

"Want to try my world out next?" RJ offers. "Patrician Squid is doing a free show Saturday afternoon. You could come, and we could hang out after, if you want?"

Bitty smiles. "I'd like that a lot," he says.

RJ kisses him goodnight, and it keeps Bitty warm all the way back to the haus.

As soon as he gets through the door, Shitty pounces. "Deets!" he demands.

"Let me get my coat off," Bitty protests, laughing.

"Then deets," Shitty says, helping Bitty out of his sleeves.

"It was very nice," Bitty informs him. He waits for a moment, just to see what Shitty will do if he thinks that's all Bitty's going to say.

He's not disappointed. "Bittyyy," Shitty wails. "That's not _deets!_ "

Bitty hangs up his coat. "He did this -- biting thing," he says. "I liked it."

" _That's_ what I'm talking about," Shitty says, with satisfaction. "You're much better at this than Jack is."

"What's Bittle better at?" Jack pokes his head in from the living room.

"Oh, most things," Shitty says, messing up Jack's hair. "Go away, we're bonding."

"Okay," Jack says, shaking his head with a smile. "Have fun."

When he's back in front of the TV, Shitty drags Bitty into the kitchen and says, "And?"

"We kissed through both intermissions," Bitty says. "I didn't want to stop."

"But he did?"

"Yes," Bitty says. "He wants to go slow. Which I appreciate, I guess."

"You guess," Shitty says, and gets up, returning with two beers.

"It wasn't what I was expecting," Bitty admits. "I mean, everyone always said that all men care about is sex, so I just thought -- but it's not bad."

"It's okay to be disappointed," Shitty says. "Sometimes expectations don't match up to reality."

Bitty nods, and takes a sip of his beer. "I guess I am a little disappointed," he says. "Part of me is relieved, though."

"I get that," Shitty says.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, until Bitty finishes his beer and says, "I'm going to bed, I think."

"'night, Bits," Shitty says.

***

Bitty is a little nervous about going to RJ's show on Saturday. Part of him wants to drag someone else with him -- the frogs, maybe? Shitty? -- but RJ pretty clearly wanted Bitty alone, so he decides against it.

He gets to the student center early -- too early, it turns out, because Patrician Squid is still setting out chairs and, apparently, gossiping.

" _Somebody_ invited his _boyfriend_ ," says a girl with curly hair, elbowing RJ in the gut, and Bitty sidesteps the door before they see him.

"He's not my boyfriend!" RJ protests. "Not yet, anyway."

"Oooh, tell us everything!" demands a male voice.

"He plays hockey, and he's really cute, and that's all I'm saying -- augh, no tickling, Izzy!"

"This is not getting the chairs set up," says another female voice. "First, get the chairs set up; _then_ have a tickle fight."

"Hazel, I thought you were on my side!" RJ cries.

Bitty decides to go downstairs to the vending machines and see if they have Gatorade, rather than continue to eavesdrop. He flatters himself that it's because he's a good person, not because the group has started quietly setting up chairs again.

The machines only have lemon-lime Gatorade left, but fortunately, Bitty likes lemon-lime. He curls up on the stairs to drink it and kill some time. When his phone reminds him that he has an appointment in two minutes, Bitty gets up, stretches out the kinks in his back, and heads back to the room where Patrician Squid is performing.

There are about a dozen people there so far, with chairs for twice that many, and the group is having a whispered conference at the front.

Bitty slips inside, waving to Molly, who he recognizes from seminar and, now, QN. "May I sit by you?" he asks her.

"Sure!" she says. "Hey, are you going to take Professor Atley's seminar again next fall? I heard it's going to be even more intense."

"Oh, I hope so!" Bitty says eagerly. "Are you?"

"If I have room in my schedule," Molly says. "I have a lot of gen ed classes left to take, because I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not!" Bitty says. "I thought your presentation on flummery was inspired!"

"Aw, thanks!" She looks pleased.

Just then, one of the women of Patrician Squid, a tiny brunette, clears her throat into the central microphone. "Hi, everyone," she says. "I'm Hazel, and we're Patrician Squid!" She takes a step back, and a much taller woman steps forward to the microphone.

Bitty doesn't recognize the song, although he enjoys it enough to think he might add it to his shower repertoire -- the "ooh la la" parts sound like fun.

"Now for something completely different," she says, when everyone's done clapping, and a third woman steps up. Bitty recognizes her as the one who was trying to tickle information about him out of RJ; Izzy, he thinks her name was.

She sings lead on a Maroon 5 song; then, after a round of applause, she says, "Hold on, I need a prop for this," and grabs a huge cowboy hat from RJ. She plops it on the head of the guy who steps forward to the mic, winks at the audience, and steps back.

Bitty's half expecting it, but he still laughs when they break into "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy." It always reminds him of Carey Price, the Habs' goalie, who does rodeo in the off season.

When he finishes, to a ton of applause, he says, "And now for our big finish!" and waves forward a tall, reedy guy.

As soon as Bitty recognizes Beyoncé's "Halo," he's bouncing in his seat. This is a song he knows well enough to pay more attention to RJ than to the lead singer, although he doesn't want to distract him by... what, looking at him too hard? It's interesting watching RJ do his thing. He approximates drums really well, just with his mouth, and he looks so focused. Bitty remembers that mouth on his and blushes, shifting in his seat.

They reach the end of the song, and Bitty is the first one on his feet, applauding. The rest of the crowd follows him, and RJ beams -- the other members of Patrician Squid probably do too, but Bitty barely spares them a glance.

Afterwards, Bitty goes up to the front of the room, where RJ is unhooking his mic. Izzy sees him first, and nudges RJ. "You have a fan," she stage-whispers.

RJ turns around. "Oh! Hi, Bitty-smiley face." He grins at him. "Izzy, this is Bitty. Bitty, this is Izzy, my roommate."

"Nice to meet you, Bitty," Izzy says.

"You were great," Bitty tells her, shaking her hand. "I thought it was really interesting to hear that song from a female perspective."

"Thank you!" Izzy says. "That's my favorite part of fronting that one -- giving it a queer female interpretation. But, hey, you didn't come to hear my song interpretations. Why don't you two get out of here?"

" _Iz_ ," RJ says, blushing.

"What? Maybe I think you're going to go play Scrabble," Izzy says. "Anyway, I'll see you at home later, RJ."

"Bye, Izzy!" Bitty says, and takes RJ's hand. He doesn't let go until they're at the door to the men's room.

"I'm not that kind of boy," RJ says lightly, pulling his hand away.

"I just want to make out, and I don't want to wait until we get to one of our houses," Bitty says. "I promise, I don't have any designs on your virtue."

"Oh, well, in that case," RJ says, and pushes open the door.

Maybe it's a little sordid, or something, that Bitty gets RJ into the middle stall and crushes their mouths together, but he really doesn't care. "That was really hot," he says against RJ's mouth.

"Glad you think so," RJ says, kissing him back. They make out until Bitty's tongue feels like sandpaper and his knees are wobbly, and then RJ says, regretfully, "We should probably stop."

"We probably should," Bitty says, even though he would really like to -- do something other than stop.

"This was nice, though," RJ says. "Thanks for coming."

"Or not," Bitty says wryly, and RJ laughs.

"Or not," he agrees.

Bitty has to have a very stern conversation with his dick before he can even think about leaving the stall, and then he ends up tucking it into the waistband of his underwear anyway, just so he can get home without embarrassing himself.

He gets back to the Haus, and the second he's closed the door behind himself, he yanks down his pants and jerks off frantically. He doesn't even bother to think about anything in particular; just the feeling of his hand on his dick is enough to have him going off like the proverbial rocket.

After that, it's all Bitty can do to get himself cleaned up before flinging himself onto his bed for a nap.

***

On Monday, RJ takes Bitty out for burgers at a little place near campus.

"This is nice," Bitty says, impressed by the artsy atmosphere.

"I like it," RJ agrees. "So, what have you been up to the past few days?"

"Oh, the usual," Bitty tells him, "working out, baking, studying. How about you?"

"Nothing too exciting," RJ says. "Rehearsal, studying, more rehearsal -- we're working on releasing an album, did I tell you that?"

"No!" Bitty says. "Will 'Halo' be on it?"

"Absolutely, it's a crowd-pleaser," RJ says.

"Tell me all about it," Bitty encourages him, and he does. Most of it goes over Bitty's head, but RJ is so excited that it's fun to listen to him anyway -- listen to him and watch his face light up. He gets distracted wondering how RJ would look with facial hair for a moment, and then the waitress comes to take their orders.

"-- anyway, that's what I've been focusing on," RJ says.

"That sounds pretty intense," Bitty says. "Good luck!"

"Thanks." RJ grins. "So -- you're a Beyoncé fan, huh?"

"As all right-thinking people are!" Bitty says, and RJ laughs.

They talk about how Beyoncé is perfection given human form until their burgers arrive. Bitty's is delicious; he makes a noise of pleasure that makes RJ drop a French fry in his soda.

"Sorry," Bitty says, but he thinks it's funny.

"I'll live," RJ says, and they go back to eating.

Bitty has his mouth full when he glances up and sees Lardo across the room. She's with a very blonde woman who looks familiar -- the goalie of the women's hockey team, he's pretty sure. He waves, and Lardo gives him a casual nod.

"The hockey team's manager," Bitty says, when RJ gives him a questioning look. "Lard -- I mean, Larissa."

"Oh, the artist? She's cool," RJ says.

"She really is," Bitty agrees. Lardo looks like she's having a good time. She seems really interested in what her date -- Noora, is that her name? -- is saying, and she has what is, for Lardo, a pretty huge smile on her face.

Bitty goes back to his burger. It really is tasty.

When they're done, RJ insists on paying, over Bitty's protests, then pulls him outside to a little green space, where he leans against a tree. "It's a little cold, but --"

"I'll keep you warm," Bitty offers, and kisses him, bracketing RJ against the tree with his arms. RJ's mouth is warm and soft, and kissing him is nice. Bitty's pretty happy.

Too soon, though, RJ is pulling away, saying, "I'd better get home."

"Oh," Bitty says. "All right."

"I had a good time," RJ says, sidestepping out from between Bitty and the tree. 

"Me too," Bitty says. They kiss one more time, lightly, and then head their separate ways.

***

The next day, Bitty meets up with Lardo to study, as usual. Bitty gets right down to business -- calc is still the bane of his existence -- but Lardo keeps fidgeting, like she's uncomfortable.

"Is everything all right?" he asks, finally, when it gets to be too much.

"How was your date?" Lardo asks him, inexplicably.

"Just fine, thank you," Bitty says. "How was yours?"

Lardo smiles. "It was great. Noora's really --" She stops. "But you didn't look… excited."

"I was," Bitty says right away. "RJ is very nice."

"Okay," Lardo says. "I'm glad."

"Tell me about Noora, though!" Bitty encourages her.

"She's got these tattoos," Lardo says, "and she gets in fights and _wins_ , and she eats more than I do." Her eyes practically have cartoon hearts coming out of them; Bitty is incredibly charmed.

"She sounds wonderful," he says. "You should bring her by the Haus sometime! I'll bake you both a pie."

"One each," Lardo says. "Something chocolate."

"You're on." Bitty smiles.

***

"Are you going to the QN meeting?" Bitty asks Shitty, a little after 7 on Wednesday.

"I hadn't decided," Shitty says, looking up from his notes. "Do you want me to?"

"Well -- yes," Bitty says. "I mean, not if you've got more important things to do! But I thought we'd go together, again."

"Of course," Shitty says. "I'll go slip into something less comfortable, and we'll go."

The walk to the student center is a little strange. Shitty keeps up his end of the conversation, but Bitty keeps getting the feeling that there's something he's not saying.

The same people are at this meeting as the one last week, and they go over pretty much the same things, except that this week, RJ sits next to Bitty while he reports on how well the bun sale went.

"We sold out within an hour," he announces. "I think the next time we do this, we should buy at least three times as many buns."

"Buns," Shitty says under his breath, happily, and Bitty shoots him a look.

"Good work!" Leo says. "All right, we can get down to the real business now. Chat away!"

Bitty nudges RJ with his knee. "Good job," he says.

"Thanks," RJ says. "And you?"

"Better now," RJ says, and grins.

Shitty touches Bitty's shoulder. "I'll catch you later, Bits," he says, and leaves the room before Bitty can say goodbye. Bitty glances at Lardo, who shrugs, but looks -- not very happy.

"Anyway, I have to get going," RJ says. "Late rehearsal -- but will you walk me out?"

"Sure," Bitty says, and gets to his feet. They go outside, where RJ kisses Bitty soundly. 

"I really do have to go," RJ says.

"I know," Bitty says, and kisses him again. "I'll let you, in a moment." He hugs him tightly, then releases him. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," RJ says. "Later!"

***

Bitty must have slept too long this afternoon. That's the only explanation for why he's tossing and turning and can't get to sleep, now that it's actually bedtime. Well past bedtime; it's 2:30 in the morning. Finally, he gives up, gets up, and goes down to bake some brownies. If he's lucky, there should be some toffee pieces left -- assuming Holster didn't eat them all.

When he reaches the kitchen, though, he realizes that he's not alone: Shitty is there, studying, or pretending to be, anyway. "Hi," he says.

"Hey, Bits," Shitty says, raising his head. "Can't sleep?"

"You either?" Bitty returns, and sits down at the table.

"You know how it is." Shitty waves vaguely at his pile of books and papers. "How was your day?"

"Okay," Bitty says. "I saw RJ again. This going-slow thing isn't the easiest thing in the world."

"There's a lot to be said for slow," Shitty says.

"More time for practice," Bitty says, then claps his hands over his mouth, shocked at himself.

"You want to practice more?" Shitty looks surprised.

"We don't have to," Bitty says quickly. "I just -- I didn't tell him that I've never -- and I know he has, and --" He waves his hands helplessly.

"It's okay," Shitty says, grabbing one of Bitty's hands before he can put an eye out. "We can practice. I'm here for you, bro, no matter what."

"Okay," Bitty says, wrapping his fingers around Shitty's. "I... thank you."

"What did you want to practice?" Shitty asks, and takes a pull from his Red Bull.

"I thought you could fuck me," Bitty says, and Shitty spits his energy drink so far that it hits the fridge. " _Shitty_!" Bitty goes to clean it up.

"I thought," Shitty says, then, "wouldn't you rather start with handjobs?"

"I've jerked off before," Bitty says witheringly. "Another guy's dick can't be that different."

"Fair," Shitty says.

"And I've fingered myself, too, and I liked that --" Shitty almost chokes on his Red Bull. "Would you stop that? I thought I could tell you anything," Bitty says.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Shitty sets down his can. "There's nothing wrong with it -- just, the image -- go ahead, bro."

"Well, I tried that," Bitty goes on, "but fingers aren't..." He huffs out a breath. "I just don't want to be a virgin."

"Virginity is such an outmoded concept," Shitty says. "Like, the misogyny and phallocentrism --"

" _Shitty_ ," Bitty interrupts him. "I know it's not -- I'm not asking you to _deflower_ me. I want to know what it's like, with someone else, without... stuff getting in the way."

"And you want it to be me," Shitty says. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Bitty says. "I trust you."

Shitty looks really pleased at that. "Okay," he says. "Did you want to do this now, or later?"

"Now, please," Bitty says. He's not hard, not yet, but he's already feeling the first stirrings of it. "If that's okay, I mean."

"Yeah, Bitty," Shitty says. "It's definitely okay." He pushes his beer away -- Bitty hasn't even touched his -- and stands up. "How about we do this in your room? I want to get something from mine, first, though."

"All right," Bitty says. He follows Shitty to his room -- which, he realizes, he's never seen more than a glimpse of, given Shitty's propensity for bursting into other people's. There are books and discarded clothing everywhere.

"C'mere," Shitty says, and pulls Bitty into a hug. Bitty realizes he's shaking a little as Shitty wraps his arms around him. "It's okay to be nervous. You know we don't have to do anything you don't want, right?"

"I want," Bitty says. "I really want."

"That's okay, too," Shitty says, and laughs a little. "God, Bitty. You're something else."

"You are, too," Bitty says, and he kisses Shitty. So soon after kissing RJ, the differences are really apparent: the soft scratch of Shitty's mustache, the feel of bare skin under his hands instead of fabric, the less-definable something that makes the two men individuals.

"You liked the biting thing?" Shitty asks, and nips at Bitty's bottom lip.

"Nnngh," Bitty says, pushing closer. He sucks in a breath, realizing that, yes, the hot bulge against his thigh is Shitty's dick. It's not like he's unfamiliar with it -- kind of the opposite -- but it's usually soft, a semi at most. This -- this is new, and Bitty feels like he's just taken off for a triple axel.

"Let me get the stuff," Shitty says. He reaches behind a book called, of all things, _The Turgid Chaos of Masculinity_ , and pulls out a good-sized bottle of lube and a strip of condoms.

"Now my room," Bitty says, and takes him by the hand to drag him into his room. He's never been so glad to have decided against lofting his bed -- they might be athletes, and more coordinated than the general run of people, but he still doesn't think having sex in a bed that's off the ground would be very safe.

"Let me get you undressed," Shitty says. Bitty raises his arms and lets Shitty take his shirt off, then his pants. He plasters himself back against Shitty as soon as he's down to his underwear, just because the friction feels so good.

Shitty pulls him down to the bed, so they're lying next to each other, one of Bitty's legs thrown over both of Shitty's, which gives Bitty some leverage to thrust against him. He feels good all through, like he's full of sunlight.

"Can I kiss your neck?" Shitty asks.

"Yes," Bitty says, and he does, lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth. Bitty moans, louder than he means to.

"Shhh," Shitty says, and goes back to kissing his mouth.

"Sorry," Bitty whispers, and bends his head to try kissing Shitty's neck.

"It's -- oh, do that again -- okay, just -- I didn't think you'd want people to know," Shitty says quietly.

"I don't want to bother anyone," Bitty says, because that seems like an important distinction to make.

"That too," Shitty says, and kisses him again, long and deep and dirty, so Bitty feels it all the way down to his toes.

"I want," Bitty says, and wets his lips. "Will you fuck me? Now?"

"Impatient," Shitty says affectionately. "Yeah, we can move in that direction."

Bitty takes the lube from him. " Here," he says, "or did you want me to -- ?"

Shitty gulps. "If you don't mind, that's -- I'd kind of like to see that."

"Oh," Bitty says, surprised. "Sure." He sits up a little, leaning against the pillows. Shitty is doing so much for him; this is the least he can do in return.

The lube is a nicer brand than Bitty is used to, wet and slick on his fingers. He opens himself slowly, letting Shitty watch as he stretches himself around one finger, then two, then three.

"Oh, fuck," Shitty says. "Oh, _fuck_. Yeah, Bitty, do it, that's right," the same litany as when he watches NHL highlights, only quieter, just for Bitty's ears.

"That's -- enough, I think," Bitty says, biting back a groan.

"Okay," Shitty says. "This'll probably be easiest if you ride me, your first time. That way you can control the, you know, depth and speed and whatnot."

"That sounds good," Bitty says. Shitty arranges himself against the pillows and puts on the condom, and Bitty gets up on his knees. "Okay, here goes." He straddles Shitty's hips and reaches down to get his dick angled right; his hand tangles with Shitty's, doing the same thing.

"Remember, this is supposed to feel good," Shitty says, and leans up to kiss him.

"I know," Bitty says. He lowers himself a tiny bit at a time -- thank you, squats -- until the head of Shitty's cock slides into him, thick and blunt and so, so good. "Oh," he says softly.

Shitty strokes his hip. "You good, Bits?"

"Yeah," Bitty breathes. "I'm --" He lowers himself a little more, then more still, until he has all of Shitty's cock inside him, and that's so intense a feeling that he has to close his eyes against Shitty's gaze for a moment. "I'm good," he says, and starts to move in earnest, riding Shitty's cock, Lord, is this really his life?

Shitty keeps up his "is this porn or NHL highlights?" narration, murmuring, "Drive it in, you can do it, fuck, fuck, this is filthy," and Bitty has to cover his mouth with one hand to keep a laugh from escaping.

"I knew you'd sound -- the same," Bitty says through his fingers.

"Thought about it, huh?" Shitty asks, and reaches out like he's going to touch Bitty, then stops. "Sorry, that was --"

"I did, a little," Bitty says. "You can touch me if you want." He thinks that would feel good.

"Can I jerk you off?" Shitty asks.

"Go for it," Bitty says. He gasps when Shitty wraps a hand around him, big and warm, the perfect counterpoint to the rhythm Bitty's set, riding him. "Oh," Bitty says, "oh, _fuck_."

"Bitty," Shitty says, "Jesus, _Bitty_ ," and his hips jerk up and his eyes close, and oh, that's what it feels like to make someone come. Bitty likes it. "Come on my chest, Bits, fuck, do it --"

Bitty wraps his own hand around Shitty's, speeding up, and then he comes, just barely stifling his cry in time, splashing come all over Shitty.

"Fuck, that was filthy," Shitty says, tracing a line through the mess on his chest. He sounds a little like he does when he's baked, and a little like he does during a goal celly, and it's just so _Shitty_ that Bitty grins helplessly.

"It really was," Bitty says. He tries to get up, but his muscles don't want to work right.

"Here," Shitty says, and lifts him off by the hips, setting him down on his abs instead of his cock.

"Thank you," Bitty says. Part of him wants to kiss Shitty again, but he's not sure if that's appropriate anymore. Foreplay is one thing, but that would be... something else.

"It was my pleasure, Bits." Shitty looks like he might want to say something else, but he doesn't.

"Mine too," Bitty says, like it's some kind of competition, and immediately feels stupid.

Shitty laughs a little. "Good."

Bitty's pretty sure his legs will work now. He climbs off Shitty and gets back into his clothes. "Well, I'm going to bed," he says. "Goodnight, Shitty."

"'night, Bits."

***

 _want 2 get coffee l8r?_ says the text from RJ that wakes Bitty up on Thursday morning.

_sure ^_^_

They meet up after classes, at Annie's, and Bitty longs briefly for a pumpkin spice latte. "I guess they wouldn't be as special if they had them all the time," he tells RJ sadly, and orders a latte with cinnamon syrup instead.

"Americano, please," RJ says, and they go to sit down.

Bitty's not sure what it is, but something feels... off. They each try telling stories, but they have to explain all the jokes too much for real laughs, and it's just not… Bitty isn't looking at RJ the way Lardo looked at Noora, and RJ isn't looking at him that way, either. Is it too much to want that -- for both of them?

Finally, RJ sighs. "This isn't working, is it," he says.

"Oh, thank God," Bitty says. "I was afraid it was just me."

"No," RJ says. "I think it's both of us. You're really cute, Bitty-smiley face, but I think maybe this was a failed experiment."

"There's no such thing," Bitty says, remembering something Ransom told him once. "We just didn't get the results we wanted. We still learned from it -- and maybe we could stay friends?"

RJ smiles. "I'd like that," he says, and he hugs Bitty goodbye as they leave the café.

Bitty finishes his coffee just as he gets back to the front door of the Haus. He resolves to make the brownies he was thinking about last night. It turns out that Holster actually did leave the toffee alone, or at least enough of it for Bitty's purposes, which has to be a good sign.

"That smells 'swawesome," Shitty says, once they're in the oven and the smell has drawn him down from his room.

"Thank you," Bitty says, not turning around from the sink.

"Do you want to talk?" Shitty asks gently.

"We broke up," Bitty says.

Shitty exhales heavily. "I'm sorry, bro."

"Me too. I mean -- I don't know. I wanted it to be different." Bitty does turn around now, to look at Shitty. "You know?"

"I know," Shitty says. "Wait, you've got --" He reaches out and swipes at Bitty's jaw with his thumb. Almost instinctively, Bitty catches his hand and holds it there. Shitty sucks in a breath, and his eyes get dark, and something in Bitty's chest clicks into place.

"Oh," he says.

"What?" Shitty moves his thumb, kind of a caress.

"He wasn't you," Bitty says.

"Nobody else is," Shitty says, and Bitty leans forward to kiss him, right in the middle of the Haus kitchen.

"I'm done practicing," Bitty says, "just to be clear --" and Shitty kisses him like _crazy._

**Author's Note:**

> here's the Patrician Squid setlist, plus a couple of my other favorite collegiate a cappella tracks to round it out: http://8tracks.com/angelsaves/patrician-squid (art by me)
> 
> if you recognize Lardo's girlfriend, or the book Shitty hides his lube behind, you get a gold star :D


End file.
